


This be madness

by Phoenix_Mary



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Mary/pseuds/Phoenix_Mary
Summary: It happens when she least expects it. It's not after nightcaps in her parlor or dinner or when they see each other again after she flew her father to England. It doesn't happen at any of those moment's she might expect it too.References past sexual assault.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I started writing for MFMM... and now it's finally ready (and I try to finish my soulmate fic before the 1st of February)

Adrenaline is cursing through her veins, feeding of the fury that is rolling of him in waves. Desperately she chases after his mouth with her own, as he manhandles her somewhere more private. It was a close call, and duty (his) and pride (hers) would demand that they return to City South and try to solve this case, but right now she needs to know she’s still alive, that he’s still with her. She would take him on the front steps of the station right now, for all the world to see and damn the consequences, but luckily for them they’re in a dodgy part of town and two people shagging in an alley are more likely to get a cheer than get the coppers send after them. She fumbles with his tie, trying to get to that delicious patch of skin on his throat that never fails to get her going. She gets to see it so rarely, only when he forgets himself and loosens his tie in her presence. They’re still stumbling down the alley together, Phryne doesn’t know why he hasn’t pushed her up the wall yet, the way he’s rutting against her as their limbs tangle. He needs to be inside her now!  She nibs at that patch of exposed skin just that bit too harshly, and whatever restraint he was still holding onto finally breaks. She finds herself pushed against the wall, her chiffon blouse catching on the rough stones, legs wrapped around his waist. She suckles his earlobe as he bypasses her mouth to sink his teeth into her collarbone. The hand, that a moment ago was holding tightly onto her leg, vanishes between her thighs, ripping her French knickers and spearing her on his fingers. It’s too much, it’s not enough. She pushes one of her hands between them, shifting the layers of her skirt ruched around her waist, desperate to unbutton his trousers and to feel him. She has almost freed him when his thrust pushes her hand against herself, and she keens, throwing her head back.

She can barely hear him through the rushing in her ears as he growls into her neck, but MINE echoes through her head, like dipping her body in ice. Suddenly she is in another alley in another time, on another continent altogether, with another man. Her body freezes in fear, and her mouth is dry. Bile rises in her throat. The words she hadn’t had the courage to utter then, knowing they would go unheard come to her. The girl that didn’t fight knowing she would lose against the woman that survived. She pushes them out.

“No. Stop.” Her voice is weak, barely audible through the hammering of her heart. She isn’t sure the words actually made it out of her mouth, or if they’re only echoing in her head. This will break them. She’ll have to leave. She won’t be able to face him again. To refuse him now. She has survived before. She will survive this. Men will not break her, she refuses to be broken.  She tries again but the words don’t come.

She comes to, standing on her own feet. He’s breathing harshly in her ear, one hand at her hip steadying her. His trousers are still unbuttoned but he’s separated them an almost respectable distance. Her skirt has fallen back down to cover her modestly. The litany of I’m sorry and forgive me in her ear. His other hand is still in her hair. Cradling her head and protecting her from hurting herself in passion, she realizes. He murmurs her name _Phryne_ and it engulfs her like the warmth of a fire on a cold winter night. It sounds like I love you. He’s Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. A good man. An honourable man. Of course he would cushion her head against the hardness of the wall. Even a dirty, fast coupling in an alley wouldn’t make him forget to take care with her. Of course he would seek fault of her last minute refusal with himself, attributing it to his overwhelming passion that made him disregards common decency and take her in an alley instead of gently make love to her in the privacy of her boudoir. Of course he would hear her and stop, never so far gone as to take what she refuses. She forces her shaking hands to his cheeks and moves his head so she can look at him. There is guilt in his eyes, and the fury that was never fury at all, but always fear for her. And there is love, so much love that up until now she has always refused to see. “I love you” Here, with the noise of the street only some yards away, in an alley that smells of rotting rubbish and piss; where whores surely take their punters once night falls, she lets go of fears she didn’t know she harboured and throws herself down the cliffs. Because he’s her Jack and he won’t let her crash.

“Phryne” his hands cover hers. It’s a parched man’s first sip of water, a long forgotten but finally answered prayer, it’s coming home and it’s flying high in the sky.

“Make love to me, Jack” He holds her hands, pulling her from the wall, but she resists.

“Here?” Jack asks doubtfully.

“Here. Now!” she confirms, leaning back against the wall, her hands wandering to his cock, stroking him back to life. His hands vanish under her skirt, stroking her until she’s dripping again. Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, he lifts her and sinks into her. Panting, their breaths mingle as they push each other closer to completion.

“Phryne” he sighs, eyes closed, and it sounds like I’m yours.

“Jack” she accepts his offer, and gives herself in return.

They shake in each other’s arms. They don’t speak as they straighten out their clothing as good as they can. There are a couple buttons missing on his shirt and his collar is stained with her lipstick. The back of her blouse has holes from where it caught on the brick, and there is a dark stain on her wrinkled skirt where he spilled himself. Her thighs are sticky with them. She needs to go home to wash and change. An undignified giggle escapes her. They must look thoroughly debauched, for all that it didn’t take more than ten minutes. Fifteen at most.  For Jack’s sake she can only hope no one will recognise them. She’s never felt more cherished, but the world won’t share her view. Phryne had thought a lot about what it would be like when Jack finally came to her boudoir. She expected her boudoir of course. She had been quite certain that there would be Shakespeare.  Had also considered that she might spend weeks trying to loosen him up enough for seduction outside her bed in such daring places as her bathtub. An alley and in daylight too is almost outside her comfort zone. She feels the pieces shift as what she knows about Jack rearranges itself. Dangerous to have him pegged indeed. She smiles at him, ignoring the glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looks at her in this state. After all, she left plenty of marks on him. She accepts his arm, and together they stroll down the alley with deliberate dignity.

“You are coming over later? My bed is considerably more comfortable than the wall”

“Am I breaching the walls of your sanctuary at last?”

“I hope there will be plenty of breaching.” She laughs again. “That was horrible, I apologise.”

“Phryne, I…”

“Sshhh” she places a finger over his mouth to silence him. “Don’t you dare to say you’re sorry.” They stop at her car. He seems to weigh his words before he speaks again. His hands are gentle on her hips.

“I don’t regret being with you,” He states firmly “but I do regret how it happened.” He moves a hand through her hair. “You deserve better than a dirty alleyway, like a whore with her punter. I thought when we were going to this… well I would make love to you.”

“You did. Come to my house tonight and do it again.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll need to go home and change.”

“Will we talk about what happened when you asked me stop?”

“Tonight.”

“Good.” They are silent. The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but they’re off balance. At the beginning of something new, but not exactly sure what it is yet.

“I need to head back to the station. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

“And I need to clean up and change.”

“So I see you tonight?”

“Yes.” She confirms her invitation again. Furtively she looks around before pressing her lips against his. As she drives away, she can feel Jack’s eyes on her until she turns the corner. Her insides tingle in anticipation for the night.

 


End file.
